Kinslayer
by Ryla Dante
Summary: Sequel to When the Levee Breaks. Creigh, the new YED, comes for the boys. He tells them of a dark family secret they did not want to know, and that Sammy must fight him to save Dean's life. Winner take all! WarningStrong Language and Violence!
1. Dream State

**A/N:** Here is the first chapter in the second half I promised!! This sequel is much more intense, and the twists would make 'Lost' jealous. I just hope these ones are not to far out there. They are mostly for my own pleasure and to help the story line along. Not to mess with what Eric Kripke intends. I recommend that you read the first half if you haven't before delving into this part. It will help you immensely. I think, if anyone wants me to, I will make this into a series. After you all read this, please feel free to e-mail or leave a review letting me know what you think. I think that what I have added to this part would definitely make room for more sequels.

In this story, there will be a lot of tense moments, a lot of violence. Also there is quite a bit of vulgarity. I hate using it, even though I do do it. (I said dodo, hehe) It does tend to debase the storyline quite a bit, but sometimes with certain characters, you have to use it. You wouldn't make Tony Soprano say: "I'm gonna kill that stinking guy." Nah, he'd say: "I'm gonna wack that fucking googootz." So sometimes a little swearing is needed. Anyway, be prepared for some serious action and such. Hope you like it.

**Disclaimer: **I would like to say thank you to Eric Kripke, Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, and James Beaver for giving me something to work with. Their wonderful writing and acting abilities have let me run wild in these last two stories, and without them I would have nothing to do. Also to Peter Johnson, Matthew Dow Smith, JD Mettler, Greg Thompson, Kristy Quinn, Ben Abernathy, Tim Sale, Dave Stewart and Sonia Borris. These people worked hard on their amazing new supernatural comic. This being where an idea was used in one chapter, that helped the story along. I pray that wasn't a bad thing, it simply helped things along. So once again, thank you to all the people who made Supernatural and Supernatural Origins possible.

* * *

_"Satan's wrath is the only choice, his still born army is impeccable" Avoid the Light - Pantera_

An excerpt from the song "The Kinslayer" by Nightwish

_"Facing this unbearable fear like meeting an old friend"  
"Time to die, poor mates, You made me what I am!"_

_"In this world of a million religions everyone prays the same way"  
"Your praying is in vain It'll all be over soon"  
"Father help me, save me a place by your side!"  
"There is no god Our creed is but for ourselves"_

_"Not a hero unless you die Our species eat the wounded ones"  
_

_"Drunk with the blood of your victims  
I do feel your pity-wanting pain,  
Lust for fame, a deadly game"_

_"Run away with your impeccable kin!"_

_"- Good wombs hath borne bad sons..."_

XXXXX

Richards led Dean down the lonely hallway. It was extremely quiet, and to Dean, it seemed staged, almost fake. Something was up, and he did not like it. Beyond them was a lone metal door, and as they reached it, Richards took out his keys and opened it. It creaked loudly, then slammed behind them. In front of them lay another small hallway. The walls were a pale green and some of the paint was chipped and falling to the cheap tile flooring. Dean was feeling uneasy about this, yet Richards never said a word.

Ahead of them was a wooden door, and Dean knew this one well, and he stumbled in Richards' grasp. The guard chuckled, and thrust Dean forward hard. He struggled more, but it was futile. Richards pulled open the door, and Dean saw the chair sitting all by itself in the middle of the room. He could feel a scream looming in his throat, but it sat there, heavy as a stone.

Richards placed Dean in the chair, strapping him in. Dean yanked at the straps, grunting as Richards' laughter bounced around in the otherwise empty room. Dean felt as if something were terribly wrong, as if he what had happened before, with Sammy making the deal was a lie, and this was real. He was really going to die, and at the hands of a lunatic night guard. Talk about irony.

Richards disappeared into a small room to Dean's left, slamming a door behind him. All the lights went on at once, making Dean shut his eyes against the glare. A moment passed, and then Dean felt a cold touch on his arm. He shuttered, then opened one eye. The lights were still too bright to open it all the way, but what he saw made him close it again.

Standing to his left was the priest, but instead of the gentle face from before, it was Richards, a sneer on his already evil face, making him look like the devil himself. He chuckled as Dean snapped his eye closed, and the sound was tinny and stayed in Dean's ear for the longest time, as if someone had played a tuning fork to close to his earlobe.

"Oh my child, for your sins, I have been sent to absolve them . . . " The voice did not belong to the man he knew. It was darker, more vile. 'Richards' leaned in closer, so close Dean could feel the man's hot breath on his neck. It burned.

"But Dean," Dean could sense that 'Richards' was smiling, and he did not like it. "There is no absolution where you are going!" He laughed so loud, Dean was sure his ears were about to bleed, then he was gone.

The lights dimmed a moment, then were extremely bright against Dean's closed eyes. He heard a faint click, then felt pain like nothing before. It was not anywhere near like the shock from the interaction with the Rawhead. It was even worse than he thought he had felt before. Dean screamed loudly . . .

XXXXX

"Hey Nancy!" Dean's cell mate tossed a pillow at his head. It slammed into Dean's back then hit the floor. Dean ceased screaming, but his heart was still beating hard. He glanced at the man across the small cell. He looked pissed.

"Knock off the air raid siren. Some of us really do want to sleep!" He rolled his eyes, then turned back to the cement wall, groaning. Dean fell back to his own cot, happy to still be alive. He turned to his own wall, about to go back to sleep, when he heard his mate grunt.

"Hey pretty boy . . . " He was sitting up in his bed, glaring at Dean. Dean turned slowly, waiting for the larger man to do something.

"Toss me back my pillow. You don't expect me to sleep on this hard ass cot without some form of comfort, do ya?" He continued to glare at Dean as he threw the pillow back at him. He caught it, then turned back around, mumbling something about fairies and wishing he'd take flight already.

Dean ignored the man's comment, and just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.


	2. Revelation

A/N: Okay...thanx Pippin1984 for being a loyal follower, hehe. Here is the next chapter...and the first twist. As I had said before, this one came to me only after the first one had been written, and just out of the blue. Once again I say, I hope it is not to out there, hehe. Enjoy!

Also, I don't know a heck of a lot, if anything, about the legal system. So I really don't know what pull a Homicide Det. has (which most likely is none) but I thought it worked nicely with the story. Yet, after hearing that a Sheriff can change a ruling that a Judge lays down (in the Paris trial) then maybe a Det. can do the same. Ahh, whatever. It's just a story right?

(Made a boo-boo on something, have to revise, hehe. Must change the name of Denny's friend. It was Alan, but now it is Victor...it will make sense later, lol)

Disclaimer: CW and Eric Kripke own Dean, Sam, and Bobby. Any other characters are mine and mine alone. (Save two, but you will see who they are later, hehe)

* * *

Denver Morales stared at the picture of his sister, so young and full of life. He had never been the kind of brother he should have been, and regretted it to this day. Hector Morales, Denny's father, was a drunk and abusive to both of them. By the time his sister was sixteen, Hector had gone too far. Denny had attacked him, almost killing him. His sister moved in with her older brother, while Denny had been taken into foster care. They kept in contact for a while, but when Denny began to drink heavily like his father, and was prone to violence, she turned away from that life all together. Denny never spoke to her again. 

The first time he had heard anything about her, was when in 1975, she got married. Denny had clipped the article out of the local newspaper and carried it with him wherever he went. A few years later, he now living in the same town as his sister did, Denny found out that he was an uncle. Now knowing where she lived, he would drive by and watch as his nephew grew to be a fine boy. The young boy, whom he never got to know, received a brother shortly after.

Then one night, when Denny was 23, he sat at the house, drunk off his gourd. It would be the last time he would ever see the family together. That night, his lovely sister died, while he slept through a drunken stupor, and later he would be arrested and tossed in the clink over-night for public intoxication.

When he found out the next day on the TV that his older sister had died in 'strange circumstances', all while he had been sleeping right in front of her house, he quickly changed his tune. Booze was no longer a factor in his life, and he left the small town and became a cop, obsessed with finding out what had happened to his sister. The files on her were mysteriously locked away, or even blacked out. Something was wrong with her case, and he did not like it. Even his best friend Victor, who later became an FBI agent, thought things were wrong. Soon after fifteen years of searching and never getting anywhere, Denny let it go, thinking maybe the case was better left alone, just like JFK.

As Denny looked at his sister's picture again, a light knock on his door startled him from his thoughts. He set the photo down and stood. It was rather late for visitors, and he wasn't really expecting anyone. Walking to the door, he tapped his gun gently, just in case. Reaching out for the doorknob, he turned it. The door creaked open, and Sam stood on the other side, smiling softly. That boy really had a way about him.

"Sorry to bother you so late Detective, but . . . " Morales stopped him.

"Not at all Sam, come on in. And please, call me Denver." Denny dropped his hand from his pistol, and motioned for the taller man to enter the room. Sam nodded then sauntered in, taking a seat in front of Denny's desk. He edged it closer to the large oak fixture, then stared at the other man. Denny stood by the door a moment, then shut the door. Denny walked back to his desk and leaned against it. He glanced at the picture, then back at Sammy.

"Um, might I inquire as to why you are here so late?" Denny crossed his arms in front of him. He raised an eyebrow. Sam leaned forward, taking a deep breath. He was there for Dean, to get his brother fully out of the prison he was in. It was great that Morales had gotten him out of death row and into G-Pop, but now, one month later, he needed to be completely cleared of all charges and go home.

"Denver, my brother really deserves to go home. I mean I am not in the least bit ungrateful for what you did, but I think it is time Dean be released." He sat back, shaking his head slowly. It had been a crazy three months since all of this had happened, and he just wanted it all to end, and now.

Denny stood, still eying Sammy. There wasn't much else he could do as a mere homicide detective. He used what power he did have just to get Dean out of the hell he was in. Now Sammy wanted his brother back on the outside with him. He could understand the wanting, the longing, but he had used up his connections, save one.

"Sam, I don't think I have any way left to help you." He moved to the opposite side of his desk and pulled out his chair. Sitting down, he shifted slightly. Sometimes he wished he had made more friends instead of pushing them away all of these years.

"Yeah, I have been hearing that all of my life." He looked at the floor, feeling strong emotions about to take over. Denny stared at him a moment, but shook his head.

"Look _Detective_," Sam stood, turning toward the door. "I am sorry to have wasted your precious time. I guess us Winchester's are always gonna get the short end of the stick. From my mother Mary all the way to Dean, that's just the luck we have. Thanks anyway." As he started to walk away, Denny stopped him.

"Sam," Deny stood fast, his chair squeaking. Sam swung around, not looking very happy. He wanted to just go back to his hotel room and get drunk, even though that was the last thing he should be doing right now.

"Yeah? What now?"

Denny looked at the photo on his desk once more, then back at Sam. Something struck him hard, like a baseball hitting a plate glass window. Why he never noticed it before, why it never occurred to him. He swiped the frame off the desk and spun around the table and stood within inches of Sam. Denny looked from the picture to Sam then back again.

He thrust the picture into Sam's tightly crossed arms. He grunted, but took it anyway. What he saw was a woman with long blonde hair, pulled back in a ponytail, her thin lips open in a laugh, the sun behind her shining down on her making her look so radiant, like an angel. It was his mother, but much younger than any pictures he had ever seen her in.

"Why do you have this? This is my mother!" Sam gripped the picture tight, tears welling in his now wide eyes.

"I can't tell you that Sammy, I really can't . . . " Denny turned away, looking down at his desk. Sam was huffing, steam practically rising off of him. For this man he did not even know to have a photo of his mother, and not tell him why? He grabbed Denny's arm and spun him around.

"First off, only family gets to call me Sammy," Sam glared at Denny. He just blinked in response. "Second, you either tell me now, or so help me God . . . " Sam had never threatened anyone, at least not without meaning it. He was so upset right now, he would take out Mahatma Gandhi if he were to look at him wrong.

Denny could only stare at the boy. He saw how he had jumped at Humphry when he bad-mouthed Sam's father. He guessed that this was a man that you did not want to push too far. Denny sighed again, then sat on the edge of the desk. He had no choice.

"Look, I know you won't believe a word I say, or if you do, like it. Your mother and I . . . her mother was my mother. I'm your uncle!"


	3. Ties That Bind

A/N: Did not plan on updating his soon, but I knew if I didn't, Pippin1984 would come at me with a pitchfork, LOL. I will post the next chapter in the next few days to give you a little time to steam. (evil grin, hehe) All chapters are already written out, so it is not like I have to write anything, hehe. I hear the twist in the last chapter was nice, so be prepared for even more after this.

Now in this chapter, the storyline is a little strange. Mary's back-story is established, but in an odd way, and of my own volition. After you read this (and later chapters involving her) please don't be angry at me for doing what I do to her, hehe. It for the story, and that is all!!

Disclaimer: Kripke, Ackles, Padalecki, and Beaver own the rights to there own characters. I just take credit for the rest :

* * *

As soon as the words slipped from Denny's mouth, he realized it had been wrong. He had not wanted this to be the forum for which to do this. Sam stared at the man for a long time, not comprehending what he had just said. Sam was so sure that most of his family, if not all of them were dead. Strange things just seemed to happen to the people he loved, even if he had never met them. Bad luck followed him like a dark cloud, and he hated it. 

"No. You're wrong!" Sam slowly set the picture down, the anger slipping into confusion and disbelief. Why hadn't his father mentioned Morales to him before? Or Dean? Or even Bobby?? Bobby waited 23 years to mention Ava, what made him think he would say anything to him about some estranged uncle he did not know about?

"Sammy . . . I mean, Sam." Morales placed a gentle hand on Sam's left wrist. Sam looked at him, but only saw through him. This was so strange to him, so foreign. Yet he did not shrug the man's hand away.

"I don't really know what to say here, but that I'm sorry. I wish things could have been different, and that I could have been in your life." Sam watched this man who wanted to eat his brother alive only months prior, change into a caring, fatherly figure right before his eyes. It was strangely touching.

"What, what was my mother like?" Sam sat, eying the picture carefully. Dean had always told him to never ask about his mother when he was a child, so throughout the years, he lost more and more memory of her. That is, what little he had to begin with. Now he had an extremely close source, one that could give him inside information to what his mother was like as a child, before his father knew her. It was like fate.

"Well," Denny pulled his chair around the desk and sat in front of Sam. This time he gripped Sam's hand. Sam smiled weakly, still a little confused, but the feeling was breaking.

"Your mother was a happy young girl when I first came along. That was until my father, Hector, lost his job. That was the beginning of his drinking problems, along with his violent streak." Denny lowered his head. Sam stared hard at the man in front of him. This was not what he wanted to hear. Of course he knew nothing could be all 'lollipops and candy canes' either, but this?

"Your mother was the first person he went for, because she was the girl, and not his child. When she was 13, and would come home late from school, he'd start in on her. He would ask her why she was late, and whom she was seeing. If she said nothing, he'd yell at her. If she talked back, he would hit her for being insubordinate. Either way, she got it."

Sam shuddered. To think that his mother had lived with this before meeting his father. Thank God for small favours. Denny saw the look on his nephew's face, and frowned slowly. He felt for the boy, knowing how hard it was and must be. For them to both lose the same woman that they loved dearly, Denny couldn't even find the words.

"Then shortly before her 16th birthday, Mary's parent's, our mother and her father, died in a car accident. They were shopping together to buy her a car, when another car blind sided them, killing them instantly. No one ever knew what happened, because the other car took off. Hit and run." Denny stood, leaning on the desk. Tears were falling from his eyes now. Sam tilted his head in his uncle's direction. It still was so odd to him to him to hear anything about his mother from a complete stranger.

"Then, on your mother's 16th birthday, my father did the ultimate." He turned to Sam, his eyes almost red-rimmed. Sam feared the worst, and was about to get it.

"Now with my mother out of the picture, and your mother so young and . . . he took advantage of that." Denny sat on the desk, and crossed his arms.

"You see, my father had just lost another job, the third in as many months, and now his drink of choice was whisky. He had come home from his fifth bar, drunk as a skunk, and saw Mary in the kitchen cooking dinner. She was still wearing her birthday dress. A robin's egg blue, strapless silk dress. It came down to her knees, and flowed when she walked. She was still wearing it because it was the only nice thing she actually owned."

"Well, my father stepped up behind my sister, and slipped his hands onto her thighs, making her drop the salad bowl she had been holding, causing lettuce to fall everywhere. She stood there a moment, then spun around, and I heard her slap him, hard. He was stunned because she had never hit him back before. Then, he slammed her against the sink, causing a bruise to later form on her lower back. She fought as he slipped a hand up the dress, telling her that she would enjoy this, whether she wanted to or not. I watched from the hallway, hearing her cry for help. I could not take any more. Rushing into the kitchen, I grabbed the knife she had been using to chop the lettuce, and jabbed it into his back."

Denny stopped a moment. He placed his hands on his knees, and looked almost white. Sam could see he had never told anyone this before, and felt confident that he could trust Sam with this information. The strange thing was, even though he only knew of him as his uncle minutes ago, Morales actually could do just that. Sam stood, placing a warm arm around the man's shaky shoulders. He calmed a bit, trying to smile, but it failed.

"Sam, I hate laying this on you like this. For you to hear all this terrible crap about my father, what he did you your mother. It seems that neither of us had such a great childhood after all!" Denny rubbed his forehead with his hand, then stood. Then, something occurred to him. The reason that Sam was here in the first place.

"Sam. I hate to leave things like this. Yet didn't you want Dean out of jail?" Sam blinked a moment, actually having forgotten why he had come in the first place. Then he stood himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, um, if you have any way of making that possible, that would be great."

Denny nodded. He had a connection in the FBI, an old friend that he had not spoken to in a few years, but hopefully he still had pull with him. Shaking Sam's hand, the younger man shook his head, and pulled Denny to him in a heavy hug. There was no way he was going to leave this office without the proper goodbye. Denny had not, at least in the last several years, been the emotional type. Not until tonight, not until he met Sammy. He was glad to know this boy, and hoped that he could make things go smoothly for him. It was the right thing to do.

"Son, believe me, I will try my damndest to do everything in my power to get Dean out . . . "

Sam nodded, then as he headed out, he turned back to Morales. He smiled sweetly.

"Thanks uncle Denny, I appreciate everything, honestly." Denny held back more tears as Sam left his office. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk. He had someone important to call, he just hoped that it would not be in vain.


	4. Hidden Agenda

A/N: As you see here, I changed Denny's contact's name to Victor...you will see why. Sometimes you just need to do little research yourself before you give people names, hehe. Even more twists here...hope they work out well...

Disclaimer: Once again thanking the men of Supernatural for their wonderful work in bringing the show to life. 'Grats

* * *

Denny picked up the phone on his desk and dialed frantically. Three rings, then a woman's voice broke through. Denny sighed. He hated having to go through people to get what he wanted. 

"Yes, FBI headquarters, who may I direct your call to?" The woman sounded almost robotic, like she did this all day long, and it was the only thing she ever said.

Denny grit his teeth. He had not spoken to Victor in a while, but knew that he needed his help now more than anything. He just hoped that he was in the helping mood.

"Special Agent Henricksen please. It's urgent!"

"One moment sir." The woman said flatly. Denny heard a beep, then random muzak playing through the phone. He groaned, wishing he had just taken the time to see Victor personally. It would have been much faster, and probably easier than this. The song played through twice, then there was a soft click as Victor picked up the phone. He coughed loudly, then spoke.

"Yes? Whoever this is better have a damned good excuse for pulling me out of a meeting." Denny knew how Victor was, and this was per normal for him. He had always been an intense man, even when they were younger. Victor may have been five years younger, but he was the harder of the two. Despite the fact that Denny had been a drinker, and could kick in a door without hesitating, Victor used words to intimidate.

At 20, Victor got into trouble with a couple guys, called them faggots, and got his lip busted. Yet that did not stop him. The next day he came back and stood up to them again. He laughed in their face, and told them it would take more than a couple of pussies to deter him. There was another fight, but Victor won that one. He left with a shiner and a broken wrist, but you should have seen the other guys. That was just Victor's way.

"Victor, it's Denny . . . listen," Denny started. He was not sure how to go about this, but he knew it was a matter of life or death.

"I need your help, and I need it now!"

Victor scoffed. This man he had not talked to since his daughter's christening, now decides he needs his help? Was he on an acid trip or what?

"Denny, you call me out of the blue after three years, telling me that you need my help? And for what? Are you drunk again?" Victor rolled his eyes. This was too much for him. Denny had fallen off the wagon at Victor's wedding, and almost puked on his wife. After that, things were strained between them. When Victor's daughter Mary was born, he invited Denny, just to be pleasant. That was when things really hit the fan.

Just as the priest dripped the holy water on her tiny forehead, Denny, already tipsy, teetered into the altar and knocked over the bowl of holy water. It banged to the floor and spun around, splashing water all over Victor and the priest. Denny giggled, lying on his back on the carpeted aisle. Victor's wife was so embarrassed. The baby was crying, and the priest was furious. Victor leaned over Denny and told him to leave and never come back. Denny had stopped laughing. As he struggled to sit, he called Victor an ungrateful bastard, and then stormed out of the church.

"No, I'm not. Please, this is important, I swear." Denny gripped the telephone tightly, closing his eyes. He had lost so many important people in his life, all because he was a worthless drunk. If he had been sober that night 25 years ago, maybe, just maybe . . . Shaking his head, he returned to the call.

"Listen. It is about Dean Winchester. You see . . . "

Victor struggled to keep his composure. Just the thought of that little shit made him want to jump off a bridge. He breathed heavily.

"Did you just say Winchester? Please tell me we had a bad connection just then . . . "

Denny knew this was going to end badly. He knew the tone in his friend's voice, and that could only mean one thing. A vendetta was on the horizon.

"Yes, why is there some sort of problem I don't know about?" He had spent the last hour with Sammy, and could not figure out what the hell Victor was yelling about. Dean on the other hand, might have been a bit bullheaded and cocky, yet that did not give Victor cause to fly off the handle. There had to be something deeper than that, something personal. With Vic it always was.

"Let's just say I have run into that boy one too many times, and it has always ended in the same result: Me wanting to take his head off with my fist." Victor grunted, then coughed, as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Vic, if this is something personal, you need to let it go . . . "

"Damn it Denny, this is not all about that night 25 years ago. Not everything is about their poor mommy dying." Victor sighed heavily. He knew what caused his hatred toward the boys, but he was not about to admit it to Denny. That was not his way. Denny heard the words, and knew that there was more to them than just trying to shut him up.

"Vic, I know you were there that night, same as I was. What the hell did you see?"

Victor was quiet, something new for him. He hated being called out for things, and this was the ultimate call out. He knew what had gone down that night, who had killed young Mary Winchester, and it wasn't any daemon. That he had seen with his own two eyes.

"Denny, listen. I know what I saw, and that's all. Please leave it alone."

Denny chuckled, despite the weight of the conversation. He knew he was breaking down Victor's walls, finally after all these years, and getting to the core of the matter. It was almost euphoric.

"Believe me. I will not let it alone. Now, for that boy's sake, and his brother's, tell me what you saw that night."

Victor hesitated a moment, then gave in. There was no way he couldn't. Even though he was the pushier one, there was just something in Denny's voice that made him want to spill all. Things seemed extremely urgent all of sudden, yet why?

"I came to see you, knowing that you would be outside Mary's house, yet again. There you were passed out drunk in front of the house. I was set to wake you up, when I saw a man on the front lawn staring up at the house. He was dressed in a long black coat, and dark pants. He must have felt my presence, because he turned to me. It was John Winchester."

"Then, a moment later, he stepped into the house. I ignored it, thinking he was just thinking about things, that was until I heard a high-pitched scream, and saw John run out with Dean and Sam. The house was engulfed in flames, and he had that same look on his face. That far away look as if he had been sleepwalking or some shit. I mean it is was creepy as hell. I left you there and got the hell out of dodge."

Denny gripped the phone tight. That explains everything. From day one Victor had assumed that John had killed Mary, and that Vic had actually witnessed it. He could never believe what actually happened, never did believe in that kind of stuff, and had it out for the man ever since. Then, when he heard of all the shit that John and his children had done together, it only added fuel to the fire. It all made sense.

"Oh Christ Victor. You know John had nothing to do with that, you know as well as I do that something otherworldly killed my sister. You just didn't want to listen."

"All I know is what I saw, and that's it. Supernatural shit is bogus. I have never seen anything to tell me otherwise! You try and convince me, and maybe I will give you the time of day."

Denny grit his teeth. There was that hard ass he was used to. He had built the wall back up, brick by freaking brick. Yet, Denny knew something that could completely shatter the whole thing like an atom bomb.

"Dean was accused and convicted of a murder he did not commit, right?" He heard Victor chuckle. He bet that made the man's day. "Well, while he was in jail, he supposedly killed a night guard there, while still locked up. Wanna explain that?"

Victor mulled that over a minute. Yes that did sound a bit strange, and sounded a lot like what Dean told him before the last few times they had met. It couldn't be a coincidence. Could it?

"Yes, strange things do tend to occur around that boy. I'll give you that much. I am not saying I completely believe what you are saying, but I am also not saying I don't."

That was enough for Denny. He chuckled once again. He had made a breakthrough, and just hoped it was enough.

"So, will you come to the Langdon Correctional Facility here is Tennessee?"

Victor sighed, but knew he had been roped into this. The last few years he had been trying to bury the Winchester clan, and now he was going to save their souls. Talk about your twists of fate.

"I can get there later today, just don't expect miracles, okay?"

Denny nodded, knowing the man was going to come through for him in the end. They said their goodbyes and hung up. Denny leaned back in his chair, truly happy for the first time since this case had come to his doorstop. Looking at his sister's picture again, he leaned forward.

"Mary, this is for you more than anything. I may not have been able to protect you when you needed me most, but now I can help the ones you love." He wiped a stray tear from his cheek, then picked up his file and headed out. Things were about to get intense, and he had to make sure he was there.


	5. Deja Vu

A/N: I know Dean has been neglected in this story. I am sorry about that. I have been focusing on Sam mostly for this one. In the next few Chapters there will be a spattering of Dean, but as I said this story is mainly focused on Sam. Sorry :( Also here is where I used an idea from SPN: Origins, the comic book. (Issue 2)

Disclaimer: To the wonderful men of SPN, thank you!! Also to the creators of SPN: Origins.

* * *

Sam leaned against the Impala. He had been working on it with Bobby since they had let it out of impound a month and a half ago. Popping out the sides and the front end had been really easy, but what would piss Dean off most, is that Sam had to replace the upholstery. It looked just like the old, but did not have that lived in smell. They were almost finished, just another coat of paint, and she was as good as new, again. This car had been through so much since her birth. Even the way they had inherited her was a tragedy in and of itself. 

Sam had found out when he was about sixteen, that his uncle Jacob died when their father was chasing hellhounds. Their mother had just died, and he had been tracking down what might have killed her. In a sematary where the hellhounds lived, Jacob was attacked. Their father disposed of Jacob's body in his station wagon; thus, Jacob's Impala was his. Ever since then it had been through one hunt or another, close to dying itself.

Sam chuckled at the thought of the car having as many lives as his own brother seemed to have, then pushed away from the poor girl. Keys in hand, he opened the still creaking door and slid inside. She purred to life, and slid out of Bobby's driveway. Thank God most of the damage had been done to the outside, and was minimal to say the least, anything worse and Sam would be taking the bus to the prison to see his brother.

XXXXX

Parking in the visitor's lot, he sat there a moment. The last three months had been so strange. Dean going to prison, he making that phony deal, then finding out he had an uncle he never knew about. Things were just insane, and could only get crazier from here. That was just the Winchester way. Normalcy was just not in the cards for them. Every day was a new adventure, and if you were not careful, you could get caught in a storm of circumstance, and never get out.

Sam opened the door, and caught a glance at a vehicle that seemed too damned familiar to him. It was a black SUV, unmarked, but inside he saw something that confirmed what he was feeling. Sitting on the dash of the SUV was a paper that had a man's name on it, one he knew too damned well. Special Agent Henricksen. Sam's jaw clenched, and he no longer felt happy. He was furious. Why that bastard had any reason to be here, was beyond him. He had no stake or claim in his brother, yet he refused to let him go. He was bound and determined to see Dean dead, if not by his own hand, then by the state's.Sam turned away, anger rising steadily. He slammed the Impala's door shut, and almost ran across the lot. There was no more time for being the nice guy. Henricksen was going to wish he had never been born.

XXXXX

"Listen Dean," Henricksen sat across from him in the visitation room. It was noisy, as other inmates were meeting their loved ones. Dean was standing, leaning against the metal chair in front of him. Morales was to his left, wanting to calm him, but had yet to tell him what he had entrusted to Sam. Now was not the time.

"No, you listen. You fuck me over, rake my name through the mud, and you expect me to listen to anything you have to say? Bullshit!" Dean shoved the chair at the table, making it bang against the wood. Victor closed his eyes, grinding his teeth. He did not come all this way to get pissed on.

"Now you just wait one second kid." Victor stood fast, banging a fist on the table. Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He expected this.

"Denny called me telling me that you and your brother were in desperate times, and you know what desperate times call for, right?"

Dean had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. Now was not the time to push the man's buttons any more than he already had. He just crossed his arms, waiting for Henricksen to continue.

"Your uncle practically begged me to save your sorry ass, so I felt obligated to do so." Victor stood up, and saw a look flash across Dean's face. It was a look of surprise and utter confusion. He stared at Victor for the longest time, then swiveled in Denny's direction. Their eyes connected, and something broke in the room.

"What did he call you? Please tell me he just got off the 'Last Train to Clarksville' without a map . . . " Denny shook his head slowly, and that made Dean smile oddly, as if he were drunk or insane.

"I hated for you to find out that way Dean, but . . . I am your mother's half-brother. Sam already knows the story. Sorry." As Denny said Sam's name, he strode into the room, not looking in the least bit happy. He saw Henricksen standing there, looking almost smug, and he wanted to kill him.

"So, I see you couldn't resist, could you G-man." Sam stepped up beside his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean jumped, not even recognizing his brother's voice. He turned to him, and half smiled. Sam returned it, then stared again at the agent. Victor stared back at him, daring him to try anything. Denny rolled his eyes. This was not the way this was supposed to go down. Stepping in front of Sam, he pressed both of his hands on Sam's chest.

"Sammy, he's with me. He's the contact I mentioned." He watched Sam's face almost melt. How could the man in front of him be friends with an asshole like that? He did not know how to respond.

"I know what you must be thinking. After how he had treated Dean, why would he help him now? Believe me. He will do what he can. I know that for a fact." He looked at Victor, who nodded, if only to please his friend. He would of course need more proof that whatever was going on was paranormal, and not just Dean being a Winchester.

The room had cleared out significantly, and things had quieted quite a bit. Sam shook his head at all of this, but sat down all the same. He needed to stop jumping the gun; it was only going to get him more trouble.

As the four of them spoke, the room took on an ominous tone, and Dean was the first to recognize it. He watched his brother talk to Victor, not yet catching the feel of the room. Sam was usually the fast one when it came to these things, but today, for some reason, he did not sense anything. At least not yet.

Dean's head felt hot, just as it had when he was in the cell before Terry had died. This felt wrong. Sam had taken care of Layla, didn't he? That deal was done, so why the hell was he feeling ill all of a sudden. He shoved his chair back and placed his head between his knees. Denny spotted this, and set a gentle hand on his back.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam was the next to notice his brother. He stood and rushed to his side. Victor stared at the small group, wondering what the hell he was witnessing.

"Sam, it hurts. Christ!" Dean gripped his head, pain shooting across his temples as if someone had hammered a million nails in at once. A second later, he slipped from the chair and hit the cement floor, seizing. Sam grabbed Dean's head in his hands, keeping it from banging on the floor. Denny held down his legs, shouting for Victor to hold his arms. He just stared, unable to move. He had never seen anything like this before, and was baffled.

"Victor get your ass down her, NOW!" Denny screamed loudly, and Victor finally snapped free, and jumped from his chair. He skidded beside Dean and gripped both of his arms. Dean's eyes were rolled into the back of his head, and spittle was spewing past his wide-open mouth. He was grunting and moaning, but nothing intelligible.

"We have to get him on his side, before he chokes on his own spit." Sam yelled down at the others. They struggled with Dean's fighting frame, but were finally able to turn him onto his left side. Dean continued to seize for another minute, his head in Sam's lap. Sam stroked his brother's hair, tears forming in his eyes.

"FUCK!" Sam screamed at the top of his lungs, knowing something was terribly wrong with this picture, and could only get much worse.


	6. The Devil Within

A/N: As you read this chapter, you will see that Bobby knows more than he lets on. I will use that in the next installment. The idea is very far fetched (believe me, it is, even by my standards, hehe) but i think it would bring he and Dean closer, and that way bring more Dean into the story...I have been seriously neglecting him this time around. So sorry about that.

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns all characters you know...any that are foreign to you, are mine!

* * *

Sam pulled the Impala into Bobby's drive. The older man was sitting on his front porch, his hat over his eyes, and a beer in his hand. The June sun was beating down on him, but he did not seem to care, or even notice. As Sam slammed the car door shut, Bobby gingerly tipped the lid of his hat off his forehead. 

"Bad day at the office dear?" Bobby chuckled, but Sammy only glared. This made Bobby sit up. Only once had he seen Sammy like that, and he was prepared to get a holy water laced beer. Cocking an eyebrow at the boy, he watched him carefully. Sam sat down next to Bobby and sighed.

"I made that goddamned deal so Dean would be all right, and what does it get me? A brother who is still in fucking pain." He slammed his hand down on the wooden armrest, and grunted. Bobby shook his head.

"Samuel, if you keep that shit up, Dean won't be the only one in pain." He set the beer bottle down, folding his hands in his lap. He knew Sammy was being serious, but he was only trying to calm him, if that were in any way possible.

"Bobby, please." Sam leaned back in the chair. He stared up at the sun, letting it cause little blue and red dots in his eyes. He did not even blink them away when he looked back at Bobby. They almost made the other man look like a clown. Sam shuttered a bit, then instantly thought of Dean's crack about clowns. He was pissed all over again.

"I go to see Dean, and first off Henricksen is there. Turns out he is there to help Dean. He was uncle Denny's special contact, and none of us knew it." He looked at Bobby, who nodded. There was a look on the man's face, a look that almost meant that he knew that already. What else was Bobby hiding?

"While we were discussing Dean's case, something happened to him. His head began to hurt him, then he fell from his chair into a seizure. He was taken to the infirmary later. They said with a little sleep he would be okay. I just hate all this shit. No matter what we do, nothing gets solved."

Bobby leaned forward, biting his bottom lip. Sam was partially right. Molehills tend to develop into mountains in this family. So much garbage piles up you can no longer sift through it without a freaking backhoe. How anything ever got done was beyond him.

The other thing Sammy did not know, was that Bobby knew about Denny and Victor. Bobby did not do research for his own good. He had come across a file that had been reopened on Mary's death, and it said that she had two brothers, Jacob Kline and Denver Morales. Also it stated that her stepfather Hector had been stabbed when she was sixteen. He had been taken to St. Peter Hospital nearly dead. After hours of surgery, he came out with a severe limp. Something that had struck him as odd, was that only two months prior to this, Mary's birth parents had died in a car accident, hit and run. The man was never found that did it. Yet Bobby had put two and two together.

The other item he had found was, that the night Mary died, a young black man had been found down the block hiding in some bushes. The cops questioned him, and he kept claiming that John Winchester did it. Yet since John was so well liked in the community, no one believed him, so the accusation was tossed out. The boy was Victor Henricksen, later to become Special Agent Henricksen.

"Sam," Bobby looked at the young man to his left, and knew that this hidden information was about to bury him.

"I've always known about Denny and Henricksen, even before you told me. I just . . . it wasn't my place to tell you. I guess this happening was fate, in a way."

Sam furrowed his brows, not sure what to say. The man he had trusted all these years, thought of as another father, had just verbally slapped him.

"Fate? _Fate?! _Are you out of your fucking mind? Dean almost gets electrocuted, and I save his ass, again, and you call that fate? I call that a complete mind fuck." He stood knocking the chair backwards, kicking Bobby's beer bottle into the dusty drive. Bobby grunted, standing himself. Class A job Singer, right up there with Custer's Last Stand.

"Listen Sam, I am sorry, but don't take it out on me. The messenger is always the innocent party, or have you forgotten that?" Bobby watched Sam's expression change as he remembered when Dean told him about his destiny, his secret. He had wanted to shove his beer bottle up Dean's ass at that moment, but as Bobby said, the messenger had nothing to do with what was said.

"You could have at least told me, whether or not it was your place to. I had a right to know, as did Dean. We were so sure that all of the family we had was dead, and that you were all we had left."

Bobby placed a hand in Sam's face. He was agitated now.

"Look Sam. If I had, would the outcome have been any different? Seriously, would it?" Then he said something that he regretted before it even left his lips.

"No matter what I do or say, you two are going to end up just like your father, so why bother!" Sam's eyes went wide. He was enraged. For Bobby Singer to speak like that about him was appalling. He closed his eyes tight, trying to control his breathing. As his breathing slowed, the gravel in the driveway began to bounce, slow at first then jump wildly. Bobby watched in awe as the ground around Sammy began to crack, splitting ever so slowly.

"Sammy . . . what . . . " Bobby's words were cut off, as he was flung backwards, slamming into the front porch railing. Before the porch fell on top of him, crushing him, Bobby saw Sam's eyes. They were black as fresh coal.


	7. Give Me What I Want, and I'll Go Away

A/N: Okay, here is the next Chapter. Yes a bit smaller, but it is a build up to the last four chapters. Dean angst coming in the following chapter. Tragedy, horror, and suspense. Look out!! LOL...(I promise in the next sequel, more Dean. I just wanted to lean more in Sammy's direction in this one because of what happens in the final chapters. And believe me, it ain't over by a long shot!!!) Okay, anyway, on with the show!!

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke and CW own Sam and Dean and a spattering of others. Whatever remains (and hasn't run away by now from terror, or just pure boredom...) is mine!!!

* * *

Dean sat up in his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. Denny sat in a chair beside him while Henricksen stood in the doorway. The look on his face seemed to say: 'If I stay here, whatever the hell he has, I won't catch.' 

Dean could not remember what happened after the pain shot through his head. The nurse told him he had an epileptic fit, and had been out for the last two hours. It was nearly ten o'clock, and his head was killing him. Looking around the room, he saw the two men, but not his brother.

"Where, where's Sammy?" This worried him, knowing that after what had happened, something was up.

Denny looked up at him. Sammy had practically run out of the place after Dean had been taken to the infirmary. He guessed after everything he had seen this was more than he could bear.

"He left soon after you came here. I really don't know where he went. He did not say."

Dean lowered his head. The only place that Sammy would go is to Bobby's. He just wished he was able to get out of here to be with him. Dean knew that Sammy was in a very vulnerable place right now, and he needed someone to be there for him. Not that his brother couldn't take care of himself, there was no denying that. It was more than likely Dean would be the one who needed help before Sam, but after all this, Sam needed all the help he could get.

XXXXX

In the guard offices, Richards and Humphry, along with three other guards were playing cards. They were laughing about random inmates, when the conversation came around to Dean Winchester. Richards became very quiet, glaring at one of the other guards.

"What's wrong James, did I say something to piss you off even more?" One of the guards, David Michaels, chuckled. He tossed a poker chip into the middle of the table. James sighed. This was not a subject he wanted to discuss.

"Can we just play poker David, okay?"

The other man nodded, and spread his cards out in his hand. Humphry stared at James and just sighed. He knew that Dean was a sour subject and all, but it was over with. Sure Sam had jumped him in the parking lot, but that was the past. They weren't there to be liked. Sometimes even respect was of short supply. They did their job, and whatever came of it, they dealt with it in their own way. Humphry knew he was an asshole, but to Richards it was like a hobby. Something to do when he was bored, or to pass the time away. In here that was constant.

As they continued the game, the lights suddenly dimmed, then went out all together. Richards jumped up, groaning on his bad knee. He cursed aloud, saying something nasty about Dean and Sammy. Humphry grabbed the man and yanked him back to his seat.

"Jesus Christ James. Let it the fuck go. They are no longer on our ward, so just get over yourself." All he could see of Richards' face were his eyes, and they were filled with anger and contempt. This man would never let it go, just couldn't.

A loud bang caused all the men to jump up at once. The door to their right had swung open, banging into a steel desk behind it. David stood in shock as a man enveloped the doorway, eyes bright yellow, and an evil grin on his face.

"I hear that Dean Winchester is being held here. I need him out of here. Now please!" He never moved, but there was a feeling of cool air around him as if he had. David looked back at James and Humphry. He backed up, banging into the card table. Creigh laughed, and shot a hand in the man's direction. David flew up into the air, then backwards into the window behind them crashing through it and into the hallway beyond.

"As I was saying. Dean Winchester, if you please."

XXXXX

Victor turned around as David came crashing into the hallway behind him. The man skidded to a stop just at his feet, glass imbedded in his face and chest. Blood flowed onto the gray tiled floor, making Victor want to gag. He backed into the room, and backed into Denny. He had his gun at the ready, and was looking over Victor's shoulder.

"What the fuck was that?" He saw the guard's body sprawled on the floor, and swung around. Dean was trying to see as well, but his view was blocked by the two men in the doorway.

"I will be right back. I have to figure out what the hell is going on here." Denny tapped Victor on the back. He jumped, but managed to stay calm enough to listen to his friend.

"You come with me. You brought your gun right?" Victor nodded, pulling it out of the holster. Denny nodded back, then stepped out of the room. Victor quickly followed, and Dean watched them disappear into the shadows.


	8. Daemons, Death, and Secrets

A/N: That last chapter was a little too small, so consider this a bonus...here is the Dean angst, and Creigh tells Denny and Dean something that shatters their very world. Yep, I am evil that way!! I hope you enjoy yet another twist!!

Disclaimer: I'm a fugazie, Eric Kripke and CW are the real deal. Plain and simple, hehe!!

* * *

Richards grabbed his torch and inched his way past Creigh. The man gave him the creeps, and that was incredibly hard. Humphry followed right behind. The other two guards stayed where they were. Creigh caught site of Denny, and smiled again. The more the merrier. 

Richards walked down the darkened hallway, his torchlight bouncing off the walls. They went through a series of metal doors, until they came to Dean's cell. Richards slipped the key in, then stopped. The only occupant was Dean's cell mate, and he was fast asleep. Where the hell was Dean? Had he escaped again?

"He, he's gone! Where the fuck is he?" Richards banged his fist against the bars, and the man inside the cell shifted in his sleep. He sat up and was shocked to see three people staring in at him.

"Hey, can't a guy get any sleep around here? First Dean wakes me up, now you. Jesus H. Christ." He began to turn back over, when Richards banged on the bars again. The man rolled back in their direction.

"Do y'all understand the meaning of the word 'sleep'? Never read a dictionary, or get past the first grade?"

Richards grunted, but ignored the comments. Now was not the time to get cocky with this guy.

"Where is your cell mate, Dean Winchester?"

"You guys couldn't find shit if you fell in the toilet afterwards." He sat up and crossed his arms. "Dean is in the infirmary. He had some kind of fit, and had to be hauled off."

Richards gripped the bars tightly. This was not going well, not at all.

"What kind of fit?"

"Jesus Christ man, who do I look like? Dr. Baden or some shit? Go and find out yourself, he left the visitation room two hours ago." With that the man turned away and promptly fell back asleep.

Richards moved away from the bars, more pissed than he had been. Creigh was directly in front of him. This man had an eery presence about him, and now that James was this close to him, it almost enveloped him, suffocating him.

"Get me Dean Winchester . . . NOW!" Creigh roared violently, the room shaking like an after shock. Humphry pushed Richards out of the way and got in Creigh's face. The man chuckled, knowing that Humphry had made a grave mistake.

"Listen jackass. James is trying his damndest to get you what you want. But if you weren't so damned pushy, we could get there a hell of a lot quicker. Got it?" As the last word left his mouth, he felt himself being lifted off the floor. His back slid up the side wall and he stopped inches from the ceiling.

Denny and Victor were surrounded in darkness, but with Richards' torch trained on his buddy, they could see everything. Only feet from them, they watched as an invisible hand pulled Humphry's belt from his pants and slipped it around his throat. The metal tongue slipped in and out of each hole, tightening with each move. Humphry dug at the leather, catching flesh and leather. With one last hole, the belt tightened as much as it could, and the sound of bone breaking resonated throughout the stark hall. Denny groaned, and leaned against the wall, his gun at his side.

The belt fell from Humphry's neck, and the man's body fell to the floor in a dead heap. Richards yelled an expletive, then rushed past Creigh, the torchlight bouncing wildly. Victor grabbed him as he ran past, almost knocking his feet out from under him.

"Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ. I..." James muttered to himself in a low tone. Victor stared down the hall, yet he could see nothing. He believed now. There was no doubting it. That was not natural what he had just seen.

"We have to get the hell out of here, and pronto!" Denny shoved the two of them back in the other direction, away from Creigh. Richards tripped over his feet, but was able to stay steady. They rushed around the guard office and past David's body, then spun into the infirmary as Victor slammed the door shut, leaning against it.

Dean sat up fast, staring at all three men. Victor was now leaning forward, gripping his knees. Denny checked the clip in his gun, and listened against the door. Richards just stood there, not sure which way was up.

"What the hell happened out there? What was that noise I heard earlier that made y'all run out of here like your asses were on fire?" Dean studied Denny's face, and it looked deep in thought. He was waiting for that man to emerge from the other side of the door, waiting for whatever the hell was going to happen.

As the seconds ticked by, a pinging sound made them all turn to the window to their left. The glass had fogged up, and was now cracking under some unseen pressure. Dean moved from his bed and stood next to the guys. They all watched as small hairline cracks spread across the large window, then the entire fixture exploded violently, sending millions of shards down on the men. They all ducked for cover behind cots and desks. One large shard flew straight at Dean and stuck in the back of his leg. He screamed, and hit the floor, landing on his stomach. He grabbed at his leg, pain and blood seeped from the wound.

Creigh stood in the room, a look of pure evil on his face. He flung a desk out of his way sending it the full length of the room, a full twenty feet. It crashed into ten beds and then settled against the far wall. He sauntered toward Dean, lifting him with an invisible force. Creigh yanked the shard from Dean's leg with his left hand, then shoved the inmate against a wall. Blood dripped down the wall.

"Looks as though I finally master what my brother never could." Creigh's 'grip' on Dean tightened, causing Dean to cough. Victor let off a shot in Creigh's direction, but it only succeeded in pissing him off. He flung Victor as he had the desk. Dean heard a faint crack as his head the wall.

Denny had finally had enough. He moved toward the man, when he felt a tightness overtake him. Denny's entire body felt as though it were wrapped in a cocoon. He struggled against the invisible barrier, but to no avail.

"You see Morales," Creigh turned his attention to the man in front of him. His hold on Dean never faltered.

"You have been a thorn in the council's side for far too long. Didn't the fact that your sister was a member ever occur to you?" Denny would have screamed if he could even breathe. This was the devil talking, and the devil's tongue was forked and laced with silver no man could touch. The words were blasphemy. There was no way his beautiful sister was a member of anything more than the 4-F club.

Creigh's grip on the two increased, and he smiled with such an intensity, Denny was sure fire was going to erupt from his lips.

"She was ours before John came along. In fact, she was my brother's. She shunned the life, a very bad thing to do, and he let her. But you see, that night, I couldn't. That fire was not set by the yellow eyed daemon you are familiar with. It was set by me!" The last he said to Dean, and with such a flourish, he was almost drooling.

Richards was breathing hard. He had taken this all wrong, and now he felt like a jackass. This was the last time he would ever presume someone was guilty when they weren't. He jumped at Creigh, breaking his concentration. Dean and Denny fell to the floor, breathing hard. Creigh growled loudly, then lifted Richards over him letting him stare him in the face.

"Thank you for your help sir, but now you are obsolete!" Then he hurled Richards out of the window. He landed in the parking lot, right on top of Victor's SUV.

Denny began to stand, but Creigh already had Dean in his arms. He pulled the boy close and whispered in his ear.

"Don't worry about your brother my boy. He has already been taken care of."

Then in a flash of bright light, the two of them disappeared. Denny fell backwards as a back draft of air followed. Denny screamed Dean's name, but there was nothing left of the two of them but a small puddle of blood and a glass shard.


	9. Darkness Surrounds Thee

A/N: Since these two chapters were so short, I decided to slap them together. So much easier. That means, only one last chapter!! In the second part of this will be a few more pieces of my little puzzle...I hope you like it!!

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke and CW own Sam, Dean, Bobby, Victor and Mary. All other characters were written by me.

* * *

Sam closed his eyes, his stomach burning. The world around him began to shift and sway, as if he were on in a fun house ride. The trees were no longer green but were red and afire. He could hear the crackling of flames and screams of souls in pain. Then Sam heard sinister laughter which grew louder by the second. It made his head pound. Banging his fists against his head, it all stopped. He placed a hand to his stomach, looked up, and almost vomited. There was Bobby, laying still under his porch roof. What had Sam done? 

Sam rushed to the man, praying that he was okay. Pressing a shaking finger to Bobby's neck, his worst fears were realized. Bobby Singer was dead, and Sam had killed him. As Sam stared at the body of his best friend, his father in training, a hand landed on his shoulder sending heat down his spine. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable.

"Tragic, isn't it?" The voice was full of fire and sulfur. The heat was enough to burn Sam where he stood. It reminded him of someone he had encountered on quite a few occasions. The thought that the colt had not worked made his heart skip a beat, and he swung around. The face he did not recognize, but the eyes were just as familiar. Sam almost lost all composure he had.

"Easy there my son, we don't want you turning into a sniveling wimp like your brother, now do we?" The man smiled, his teeth sparkling white. His grip on Sam tightened as the look on Sam's face changed.

"My brother? What are you talking about?" Sam could feel that something was wrong. For this new yellow eye to be here, everything they had done in the last three months, hell the last year, had been for nothing.

"Let's just say he is getting a very nice sun tan." Creigh laughed, the sound making Sam cringe. That was not what something he wanted to hear. Sam knew it. The deal that he faked with Layla had backfired, and now this guy had come to collect, and he had done just that. That was when Sam realized something. Something that had hurt him before, but could help him now.

"The other daemon said I was special, right? Well I think it's about time we prove it!" Sam turned away from Creigh. The man watched Sam calm his breathing, then felt instantly heavy. It was a strange feeling, but he smiled just the same.

"That's it child, let it out. Your powers are immense." Creigh stood, even under the heaviness he felt. Sam closed his eyes, then spun around. The house began to shake, and a window exploded showering them with shards. Sam's arms lifted and Creigh slowly raised off the wooden planks. His smile faltered only slightly.

"Yes Samuel, we have been waiting centuries for this." Creigh's voice hissed. He threw out his own hand, and Sam was eye level with him. Sam opened his eyes and his arms dropped, yet Creigh was still in front of him.

"Silly boy. Concentration is the key. Maybe we need to go to our home base. Fair is fair isn't it?" He pulled Sam to him, then grabbed him in a queer hug. Sam struggled making Creigh laugh again.

"Sorry Samuel. This has to happen in order for Dean to live." Sam stopped squirming, catching the look on Creigh's face. It was strangely sincere, and he did not like it.

"What does?"

"You have to win the fight. Yet if you lose, you both die and stay forever." Then in a flash of hot white light, they disappeared.

XXXXX

Denny sat on a cot wondering what the hell he had just witnessed. He had not registered any of it yet into his memory banks. Dean was gone, and all that was left was his blood all over the wall and on the floor. Something was amiss here, and he did not like it. Then when a moan erupted from the end of the room, he broke from his thoughts.

Victor struggled to sit up, a large welt forming on the back of his head. He touched it, stinging pulsing throughout his entire body. Denny rushed to his side and helped him sit up, telling him not too move to fast so that he would not get dizzy. Victor nodded and closed his eyes.

"What the hell happened in here? I have seen some weird shit Den, but that was the ultimate." Victor shook his head, trying to quell the pain, but it just stayed at level eight. He would need a Vicodin when all was said and done. He was just lucky he had not been killed.

"Look Vic, I think we need to get out of here." Denny looked back at the open window as rain began to pour in. He bit his top lip. This was hell, and they were caught up in the middle of it. People are gonna start asking questions that we just can't answer. But I know someone who can." Denny slowly helped Victor to his feet, letting him stand there a moment to get his bearings, then led him out of the infirmary.

As they pulled up in the gravel driveway, Denny saw that what he had feared had come to fruition. Bobby Singer lay under the rubble of his roof supports, unmoving. Denny banged his hand down on the steering wheel. Everyone in the Winchester clan was being taken, one by one, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Victor watched as Denny stepped out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind him. He stared off into nothing, not being able to comprehend any of this anymore. His sister dies while he drinks his life away, Dean vanishes before his eyes, Bobby lay dead in front of him, and Sam was missing.

Then something that the man had told him struck him as odd. That Mary had been a member of their council, yet left the life. When could she have possibly done that? After Denny had been taken away? After she swore that she was the one that stabbed Hector? No. Denny shook his head. That fiend was only lying to him to screw with his head, and damned if it wasn't working.

As Denny walked up to the house, he spotted the Impala parked at the side of it. Denny almost fell to the ground when he saw it. He thought of Mary's older brother Jacob. He had been out on his own years before Denny had come into the picture. Jacob had only come by a few times, but once Hector married Elizabeth, he never showed up again. Not until the funeral.

Jacob had pulled up in his three year old '67 Impala, dressed all in black. He looked like the devil himself. There was something about him that Denny never liked. The looks he gave, the tone of his voice. He seemed angry all the time. At the funeral he tried to take Mary back with him, but she refused. Yet when Hector almost died himself, Mary had no choice. There was no one else. Denny had been taken to a foster home, and Mary went to live with Jacob until she turned twenty.

That was when she met John. Things changed after that, and for the better. Jacob stopped speaking to any of them, and they never heard about him again. That was until after Mary died. Denny had heard that Jacob had died in a car accident, but felt that there was more to it. Now, here was his prized Impala. Denny shook his head as everything fit into place.

"Den, are you okay?" Victor tapped his friend on the shoulder. Denny jumped, and let out a yelp. He turned around a fist raised. Victor backed up, afraid he was about to have his head taken off. Denny dropped the fist, and lightly shook his head.

"Christ Vic! Trying to give an old man a heart attack?" They both chuckled, and at least the mood was lightened. Yet for how long?


	10. Hell Hath No Fury

A/N: Here is the final chapter of part two...the major action sequence between Sammy and Creigh you have all been waiting for. I hope it's to your liking. I am now on to work on part three...where things get real nasty!! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Once again Eric and CW own what I don't...

* * *

Sam landed hard on the earthen floor. Creigh was nowhere to be seen. Sam sat back on his heels and surveyed his surroundings. He could hear the crying of weary souls wanting for their earth bound bodies. The cries were painful to his ears, and he so wished to be able to drown them out. Heat rose from the ground in bursts like geysers. Sam stared into one of the fissures, and it went on for miles. As the heat escaped yet again, Sam slipped his hand into it, and temperature was not at all like he expected. It was strangely cold to the touch, yet hot in every other aspect. 

Removing his hand, Sam saw eyes looking at him from a small hole. The crevice was inside a large rock formation. Sam scanned the dark rocks as they edged their way to black clouds. The entire thing was the height of one hundred empire state buildings, one on top of the other, and just as wide. As he continued to stare at this enormous mountain, an eruption behind him made him spin around.

One of the fissures had expanded, and was splitting into another one. Sam stepped back as three more broke apart and a large plume of smoke engulfed the area. Sam shielded his eyes as a large fire ball shot into the sky, disappearing past the dark clouds. Sam retrained his eyes on the holes, and watched as Creigh floated out of the middle of them like Christopher Walken in 'The Prophecy.' He shot forward, slamming into Sam, knocking him into the rocks behind him.

"Home field advantage my son." Creigh laughed loudly as Sam tried to regain his balance. He glared at the man, knowing he had been fooled.

"Whatever happened to 'fair is fair?'

Creigh lowered himself in front of Sammy smiling wickedly. He touched Sam's cheek. Intense heat radiated throughout his body, dropping him to his knees.

"Never trust a man with powers greater than your own. It always leads...to...trouble." He flung Sam to his left, and he slammed into a rock pillar. It shattered behind him and he fell to the ground, rocks tumbling down on top of him. As he lay there, light beginning to fade, someone yelled his name and it wasn't Creigh. Sam blinked once, then lifted his head toward the sound. In the small hole, he saw his brother, or rather his soul. Dean was a shimmer of light, a faint glimmer in the darkness that surrounded him. Sam felt tears in his eyes, and pulled himself off the ground, the rocks sliding from his back with ease.

"What have you done to my brother you bastard?" Sam flung himself at Creigh, spinning them both in the air, causing a rush of air to blast out in all directions. Creigh grinned at Sam and held him tight.

"He's mine, unless you can win this fight, and thus far you are not making me very happy!" The grip on Sam increased, and Sam grunted. Dean could only stare. It was not long ago when he was in this same predicament. Yet at least Sam could see him now, and that was what mattered most.

As Creigh's grasp on Sam tightened, Sam stopped struggling. His head fell to his chest, and he stopped breathing. Creigh shook his head, knowing this was not the outcome he wanted. Slowly loosening his grip, Creigh realized it had all been a ruse. The ground began to rumble and the rocks bounced as in Bobby's drive. Then Sam lifted his head, and his eyes were once again black as night.

"How about now?" Sam's voice was not his own. It was deep and gravelly. His breathing was slow and steady, and his heart beat even. He pulled his arms free of Creigh and with one swift movement sent Creigh forward into a thick rock wall, cracking it.

Dean watched as his brother levitated above the ground, his hair flying around him, yet there was no wind to be seen. There was an evil smile on his face, making him look sinister. Sam cocked his head to one side.

"Have I pleased thee yet? Or shall I try harder?" He raked a hand to where the pillar had broken, and lifted a rock and tossed it at Creigh. It slammed into the man's chest making him grunt. He shot up, hovering a few feet above the ground. He was no longer smiling.

"You are your father's son after all, aren't you? Defiant till the end!" He made a move to fling himself at Sam, but Sam blocked the move by flying at him with both arms extended and his palms out. They slammed into Creigh's chest and knocked him to the ground. Creigh growled, and jumped up on his knees.

"I am going to enjoy killing you, just like I did your mother!" Sam's eyes regained their colour and he dropped to the ground. The mere mention of his mother sent a chill through his body despite the heat in the air. He stared at Creigh through tear stained eyes.

"You? I thought...No, it's not possible!"

Creigh landed beside him and was mere inches from Sam's face. He was smiling once again. This was what he wanted.

"The daemon you knew so well was my brother. He took credit for many things, but this one was mine through and through." He moved beside Sam and waved a hand in front of them. The scene that the previous yellow eye had shown him flashed in front of them. Sam as a baby and the daemon giving Sam his blood. Creigh waved his hand again, and the room was alight, and Sam could see Creigh standing there, not the man he had been after all these years.

"You see, my blood runs through your veins, as it did your mother." He chuckled to himself, waiting for Sammy's reaction. The boy turned to him, tears still in his eyes, but they were filled with more than just tears: Rage and fire.

"You lie! My mother was a god fearing woman who would have never killed a spider let alone be mixed up with you."

Creigh shook his head. The boy was smart, but still a tad naive.

"Did you never get why things seemed to happen to your family, why your mother was the first to die in a string of mysterious deaths? She was just as special as you Sam my boy, and when you came along, we could not pass up the opportunity to take you for our own. Since Mary had decided to back out of the life, and my brother let her, I had to take things into my own hands. So sorry Sammy, but you belong to me now, to us whether you like it our not. You always have!"

Dean gasped. As much as he hated to admit it, all made sense. So many strange things had happened in their life, so many things they could never explain, and now it was all fitting into place. He slid down the rock wall and watched the past scene fade away.

Sam rushed at Creigh in anger, and it was the wrong thing to do. Creigh lunged at the boy and shoved him forward. Sam slammed against the large mountain, his head hitting it and bouncing off. He slid down, blood seeping from a gaping wound on the back of his head.

"Well, this wasn't the way I wanted this to end, nor did I wish for your soul this way, but I will take it any way I can." As Creigh raised his hand to cast his final blow, his face contorted, and he grunted loudly. He stumbled backwards, and through Sam's groggy eyes he could see yellow flame bursting from a hole in his heart.

A knife had been plunged into the wound, and someone was standing behind Creigh. Sam could just barely see the outline of a woman. She stepped from behind Creigh, and Sam almost had a heart attack. There, still in her black dress, was Layla. A smile was plastered to her youthful face. She stood in front of Creigh and touched the hilt of the knife.

"Looks like you should have been the one to keep your eyes open!" Creigh grunted again, then threw his arms out. His entire body was engulfed in the yellow flame, then imploded, followed by a bright white light. The knife fell to the ground at Layla's feet. Dean gagged, choking on something that wasn't there. He fell to his side grabbing at his throat, clawing furiously. There was a series of flashes, and he lay prostrate. A moment later his body wrapped itself around him like a snake shedding its skin backwards.

Layla lifted the knife then moved toward Sam. The grogginess was gone, and he stood, not sure what she was going to do to him. Instead of attacking him, she placed the knife in his hands. It was slightly warm, and as he held it, a vision struck him.

Sam could see a man in roman garb banging a hammer against steel. The clanging rang throughout his head like a church bell. The man moved form the anvil and placed the small item he had been forging in a small bucket, and watched steam rise from it. The scene changed angles and Sam could see that there wasn't water in the bucket, but blood. His stomach turned, and the vision blurred. Layla smiled at him, knowingly.

"Sammy, you see this knife has more power than that colt ever had. It may be just plain steel, but the blood it was forged in...was the blood of Christ himself!" She stepped back and watched Dean slowly emerge from the small hole. He looked pained. Sam eyed him, still trying to grasp what Layla had just told him.

"It will one day come in handy, as hard as that is too believe. Things happen for a reason, and all things must come to an end." Sam looked back at her, and as he did, she disappeared into a small plume of smoke before he could speak.

Dean rushed up to his brother. As he touched his arm, the whole place shook. Rocks fell from the mountain like an avalanche, fire balls shot out of the fissures at an alarming rate crashing into pillars, and steam vents opened up everywhere.

"Jesus Christ Sam, what do we do? We're stuck down here, and the whole place is falling apart." Dean watched a fireball slam into the very hole he came from, and he heard screams from souls that had been trapped in there with him.

Sam took all of this in, yet none of it mattered. He pulled Dean to him, the knife securely in his belt, and used all of his powers to somehow get the hell out of there. Dean felt a cool white light surround them, then nothing. Everything was black. A moment later they landed hard in Bobby's driveway with four eyes trained on them.

Denny ran up to them, skidding in the rocks. He stopped beside Sam grabbing his shoulders. Sam stared up at his uncle and smiled. The gesture was much welcomed. He hugged the boy and was glad he was back, no matter what the hell he had been through.

"I was so worried about you guys, I was ready to go after you myself, had I known where you were." Dean smiled at him, thankful everyone was okay. Victor leaned against Denny 's car simply shaking his head. He would definitely have to rethink his position in all of this.

As they stood, Sam saw something odd. The front porch was fixed, and the window was all in one piece. Sam stared at his brother, shrugging his shoulders. Dean looked back him, completely confused. Then, Bobby walked out of the front door, alive and well. He looked at Sam, noticing the knife. He smiled slowly.

"Well. It seems that we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"


End file.
